Silvered Ice
by daymarket
Summary: Counterpart to Silver Pup's Black Roses, but from Morzan's POV. A look into Morzan's diary. Oneshot, and REVIEW!


**Muchos gracias to Silver Pup, who allowed me to take **_**Black Roses**_**'s events and write them from Morzan's POV. Enjoy.**

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_**Day 4 of Retniw, 367 AR**_

A wonderful surprise awaited me this morning as I woke—it's snowed! White, white, beautiful white covers everything. Aderes was griping, of course, whining about how snow and dragons do not mix. I've tried to tell him repeatedly that Eoin doesn't mind it and neither does Rispah, but he just snaps at me and goes off to sulk.

Galbatorix seems to be in a similarly bad mood, seeing as nobody wishes to approach him. As he's locked the throne room's doors, nobody can even _try_ to reason with him.

I don't care. It's finally snowed, and I'm not going to spend the rest of the day inside. Even if Aderes won't join me, I'm going out.

_**Day 5 of Retniw, 367 AR**_

Well.

Now I know what Galbatorix was so angry about yesterday. To be accurate, actually, the whole palace found at the same time. Dramatic shrieking from the top of the battlements (accompanied by forked lightning, of course) has a tendency to do that.

Ewin is dead, and so is Willimae. I haven't got the full details yet, but apparently it has something to do with the Varden. Poison, perhaps? Ewin was always too arrogant for his own good, never bothering to check his food.

Personally, I'm glad he's dead. So is Aderes, even if he won't admit it.

_**Day 21 of Retniw, 367 AR**_

A blizzard swept through Uru'baen today. I'm deliriously happy. Snow!

The Solstice Ball is only ten days away, and already the palace is bedecked with lacy ribbons and glittering crystals. The ladies are getting themselves ready, too, picking out their partners for the ball.

I don't know if I'll attend this year. Aderes keeps on telling me that I should, but somehow I don't feel quite up to the mincing flattery that makes up the court. Not to mention the fact that Galbatorix seems to be up to something.

_**Day 24 of Retniw, 367 AR**_

Today I opened my door to find at least twenty invitations all piled up in front of my door. I have two duchesses, one baroness, and myriad younger daughters all wanting my hand in the ball. Four more than last year, actually.

Aderes laughed so hard I thought he would choke. We poked through the invitations and he says that I should choose Lady Amelia von Sviniya, if nothing for the fact that 'sviniya' means 'snow' in the ancient language.

_**Day 27 of Retniw, 367 AR**_

I went to see Galbatorix today, and he actually let me in. Surprise, surprise. Apparently, he's been busy tracking down Ewin's killer—turns out it was a knife that killed the fool, one that was coated with Espita Fricai. He's traced him down to somewhere around Ceunon, and should have more information at the end of the week.

We talked a bit about the Solstice Ball, and for some reason he agrees with Aderes in that I should choose Lady Amelia. When I asked him about it, all he did was smile in the maddening way of his and look extremely wise. Well, that doesn't fool me—I was there when he accidentally misfired a spell and ended up with yellow muck in his hair.

He's in a much better mood now.

_**Day 32 of Retniw, 367 AR**_

In the end I finally chose Lady Amelia, mostly because Aderes kept taunting me about it. I went expecting nothing much—considering I've never actually talked to her, she was most likely going to be one of those shrinking mice who squeak at the sight of a dragon.

But no. I was surprised, albeit pleasantly, at the level of intelligence she shows. She has quite a grasp of politics. Most women barely even know how much dukes there are, but not her. Even though we talked nothing of it, I suspect that she has had lessons about magic and may even be able to use it herself.

I spent the night at her suite as well as four bottles of wine. I didn't touch any of it, but Lady Amelia had quite the weakness for champagne. It was an interesting night, to say the least.

_**Day 39 of Retniw, 367 AR**_

I was wondering why Galbatorix never called me to search for Ewin's killer, but I found out today. He sent Rossin and Eoin out instead.

I'm furious. How could he? No, I didn't like Ewin, but that assignment was _mine_. He's favoring that idiot Rossin? That ninny can barely lift his sword, much less use it! But when I went to the throne room to demand why, the guards stopped me. Apparently, his royal majesty does not wish to see me at this time.

This is absurd. Fine. He doesn't want me, then? I'll go. I'm leaving court this afternoon. If Galbatorix finally decides that he can make time in his busy schedule, then he can come summon me himself.

_**Day 42 of Retniw, 367 AR**_

Aderes and I have settled near Tiidosten, in the small clump of woods near it. Despite Aderes's constant moaning, I know him well enough that he's enjoying this. That dragon lives to whine.

It's nice out here. Quiet and peaceful, a far cry from the bustle of court. Furnost is on the other side of the lake, so I doubt anyone will disturb me here.

_**Day 19 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

It's finally happened. The summons, I mean. Aderes and I were coming back from fishing when Rispah flew overhead, carrying a very pissed off Taron and a message from Galbatorix.

Rossin returned half-dead, with a mysterious "grave injury". It was an ambush after all; the Varden knew that he was going to come investigate and laid a trap for him near the root of the Anora River. I find it sobering, a little—it might have been me, although I pride myself on saying that I would've been more careful than Rossin, at least.

I'm returning to court tomorrow. On another tack, I think Aderes likes Rispah. They seem rather affectionate with each other.

_**Day 20 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

He apologized, at least. Now that Rossin is disabled, the emperor of Alagaesia has finally deigned to notice me and graciously give me the assignment that should've been mine one bloody season ago. Or a twisted version of it, anyway—whoever attacked Rossin and Ewin is likely to be moving southward, trying to reach the safety of the Varden. I'm to search the area from Yazuac to Narda to find this mysterious assassin.

I thought I did a fairly good job of hiding my anger, but I think he knows how angry I am, anyway. The thing is, I used to think I knew him well—I was his first student, after all, and I've known him the longest. But he seemed…I don't know, distant today.

He couldn't be worrying over Rossin, could he? I was under the impression that he despised Rossin. Or maybe that was just another mask put on for my benefit.

As I was leaving the throne room, I 'bumped' into Lady Amelia. I am pleased to say the lady is as fair as ever, and twice as canny.

_**Day 25 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

It is harder than it sounds to actually search a city for an assassin. Yes, I can do it mentally, but it takes an extraordinary mind to peak out of seething mass of humanity. I finished Yazuac about two days ago and have started on Narda, but there's still nothing.

I'm really starting to get a headache. But I'm determined to keep at it—I won't let Galbatorix down.

_**Day 31 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

Nothing still. Moving down to check Daret.

_**Day 35 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

Nobody in Daret, either. Heading to Gil'ead.

_**Day 39 of Ginrps, 368**__**AR**_

Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I'm going back to Uru'baen. I've searched and searched and there's no trace of any assassin—human, animal, or otherwise. It's enough to drive me mad.

Hopefully, Galbatorix won't be too angry.

_**Day 40 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

Rossin is dead.

How? It's a long story. When I returned to Uru'baen (half-expecting to get yelled at, may I mention) the thorn room was empty. It took me quite a while to finally find Galbatorix near the stables, grooming Warbanner with a pale expression on his face.

He told me what happened. Apparently, Rossin and Mirimel were attacked somewhere on the outskirts of Yazuac. Rossin was injured gravely, and Mirimel managed to bring him back to Uru'baen. By the time Galbatorix could get to Rossin, though, it was too late. His brain (or something similar to it) had been bleeding within the skull all that time. Despite Galbatorix's efforts to keep him alive, Rossin couldn't be resuscitated and died two days after I set out for Yazuac. Mirimel died with him.

The thought is frightening. In the past two seasons, two of us have died. True, Rossin and Ewin were idiots, but now there are only seven out of the original thirteen left. It seems strange that after surviving so many years, two of us should enter the void so close to each other.

Galbatorix and I went riding in the woods afterward. I think the fresh air did Galbatorix some good, because his color certainly looks much better now. At least he has something to take his mind off the deaths.

_**Day 47 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

I met Lady Amelia today while riding around the woods. The lady never fails to surprise me—she is a very good shot, and can ride a horse as well as any man while still managing to look completely ladylike.

Aderes seems to disapprove of Lady Amelia. I find this rather ironic, since he was the one who told me to choose her for the Ball in the first place. When I point this out to him, though, he just sniffs and tells me that first appearances can be deceiving.

I went into the library and checked up the Sviniya family records. Lady Amelia is the eldest daughter in a family of six women; she has been named the heir, seeing as there's no son in the family. Her family owns estates upwards of Ceunon and the title of count. Not particularly impressive, but nothing shoddy, either.

I half-wonder what she's at court for. As heiress, she needn't marry unless she wishes to have an heir from her own lineage. Time will tell, I suppose.

_**Day 75 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

The past few weeks have been fairly quiet. I am continuing to see Lady Amelia almost every day and night, studiously ignoring Aderes's pointed glares. I must admit that it's starting to grate on my nerves, though. He warns me to not to get her with child, but I resent being condescended to as if I were a child. Of course I'm not going to get her pregnant. I don't want the responsibility of an illegitimate brat on my hands.

My suspicions were correct—Lady Amelia indeed does know how to use magic. So far I have seen her do rudimentary magic only—lighting candles, opening doors, so on and so forth. It will be interesting to see how far her abilities stretch, however.

Lady Amelia will be leaving in about three weeks for her fourth sister's wedding to Baron Draywicks. She'll be back for court when the social season at court begins again some months from now.

_**Day 6 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Lady Amelia left today, but I have no time to gripe. Lord Bartlemus, governor of Teirm, has reported 'serious tax discrepancies' in the finance accountings. Honestly, though. How does one 'tax discrepancy' twenty-three thousand, six hundred and twelve gold crowns? Considering that's enough to build a castle.

It might seem like grunt work, but I'm glad to have something to do. At least I won't be spending the empty season in the palace, bored to death and marking the days by how many rabbits I've killed. Everybody always returns to their estates, anyway, but Argelin takes care of the holdings I have.

I leave tomorrow.

_**Day 8 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Bartlemus has found me lodgings in a decent inn that looks out over Leona Lake. The man was all a-flutter, trying to coax me into the crumbling heap he has for a castle, but I much prefer the solitude out here. Besides, Aderes can't fit into Teirm without causing mass panic.

I have borrowed the financial and tax records and am poring over them. Only one word can describe such an act—dull. Even hunting rabbits shines by comparison.

_**Day 14 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

I take back the rabbit comment. Do you know? Almost every single merchant sending goods in and out of Teirm has had just a _little_ scraped off their payments. I got a little suspicious; it's far too widespread to be a case of simple tax evasion.

So, I decided to look deeper into records stretching over the past couple years. The problem actually goes to about ten years back, with about a thousand or so crowns missing per year. And here we come to the question—why did the difference suddenly jump from one thousand to twenty-three? And where is all that missing money going?

The merchants make their tax payments to the department of finances up in the castle, and the secretaries there then total up the amounts a day or two after the crowns are received. Somebody must have the ability to infiltrate the treasuries, unlock the payment chests, and smuggle the crowns out without getting caught. That somebody would most likely work in that department as a steward, for only they have the necessary counterspells to open the chests.

There are a total of eleven stewards who have the ability to access the treasuries. I've told Bartlemus to keep each of them under careful watch. The differences are still growing—that means whichever steward it is, they're still stealing. They must have accomplices, too, for this is far too big a job for one lone man.

_**Day 29 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Incompetence! Do I have to hold their hands for them, too? Maybe dress them up in pretty bonnets and lead them out for a walk? The _fools!_ How could they? They lost him, the stupid bastards!

One of the stewards was caught trying to smuggle yet another package of crowns out last night, but—oh, this is rich—one of the five guards was in the latrine at the time, one of them was out with a woman, and two of them were drinking down bottle after bottle of rum! The one who who had sense enough to stay alert went after him, but the man managed to brain him with a pipe and so make good his escape.

This is disgusting. I'll have their skin, see if I don't. Now I have to place an embargo on all routes in and out of the city, as well as lock the city gate. I've put those four slackers in jail with orders for execution if that pox-cursed steward gets away.

_**Day 30 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Between the time of yesterday's entry and the city executing a trade embargo, one ship and one caravan managed to leave. I have my suspicions pinned on the caravan—the ship carries restricted items and goes straight to Dras-Leona under guard of the Ra'zac on their foul mountain, and any thief on that ship would be committing virtual suicide.

Still. I'll place a watch for the ship just in case. As for the caravan, its travel itinerary indicates a route through Jenster Pass of the Coastal Mountains before heading to Gil'ead. Shouldn't be too hard to find.

_**Day 32 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

I have him. I have him in sight, anyway, writing this on Aderes's back at several thousand feet in the air. Right now his twitchy little mind is exhibiting tentative declarations of joy at having escaped imperial justice. Ha!

I think I'll wait. I'm in no hurry, after all. If I seize him now, he may be able to commit suicide with magic before I can get anything from his mind. If I let him go on his merry way, maybe I'll be able to see who he's been stealing all that money for as well as his contacts and accomplices. Perhaps the Varden? Or is it a private enterprise? If it's the latter, I must applaud his ingenuity at gaining such lucrative capital.

For now, Aderes is getting rather peckish and there are some deer about two miles away. I wonder how long it will take to get to Gil'ead by land?

_**Day 41 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Whoever is leading the caravan must be wringing his hands and dithering at his own stupidity. They've completely missed Jenster Pass, picking instead a long-winded route that trawls back and forth through the mountains.

I find this enormously amusing. Amazingly enough, crowns made out of gold are worthless when there's not a shop to be found. The former steward (Ebroin) has found this out, much to his dismay. They'll be reduced to eating the cargo soon, and after that they'll be boiling their shoes for leather.

The solitude is wonderful. It's just Aderes and I, out in these wild mountains alone.

_**Day 45 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Nothing particularly special happened today, unless you count the fifth broken wheel they've had. I'm getting bored of this game, amusing as it is. A clear road through the mountains is right under their noses, yet they insist on climbing the highest passes and getting trapped in knee-high snow.

Even so far into the season, the very highest of the Coastal Mountains are layered with white. The snow is beautiful, elegant, and coldly perfect. It reflects what little of the sun there is with a shining glory, but absorbing none of its warmth.

It rather reminds me of Lady Amelia.

_**Day 53 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

The idiots finally made it through the mountains. Ebroin is still with them, though considerably thinner.

At their current pace, it should take them about twelve more days to reach Uru'baen. Unless, of course, the caravan master once again displays a genius streak of getting lost and ends up going back over the mountains again.

_**Day 55 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Ebroin has decided that Gil'ead is not for him and has slipped off the caravan. There's a tiny village along the foot of the mountains, just a few miles away from Flam Lake. He's holing down there for now.

Well, fun as this was, all games must end. I'll arrest him tomorrow.

_**Day 56 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Whore! Bitch! I'll rip out her heart and feed it to the dogs. Leave her dangling for the crows, where they can rot from here to eternity if that's what it takes—

Shut up, Aderes. I don't need to justify myself to you. _She had no right_. Cursed woman, I'll kill her. Tear out her bloody guts and dangle them on the wall! She started the riot; she was screaming like a lunatic and managed to catch the damned notice of everybody.

Ebroin managed to get away while the whole village tried to lynch me. Damn them! They were taking up that bitch's chant, something along the lines of, _"Gods curse you, Morzan! Killer! Murderer!_"

I'll destroy them all. The Empire can survive without citizens like these. And as for that whore, I'll teach her to spout lies to my face.

_**Day 57 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

I am writing this from a few miles away, watching the remnants of the village vanish in a leaping bonfire. The woman should still be alive, but not for long.

They got what they deserved.

_**Day 72 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

I have Ebroin's trail again. He's in Daret.

_**Day 75 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Got him. He's dead now, but I have some very interesting information for Galbatorix. Heading back to Uru'baen.

_**Day 77 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

Galbatorix was interested to hear what I had to say, and we have pinpointed the location of the smuggling headquarters. Or a vague radius of it, anyway, which is just as well.

The crown-theft goes much deeper than just Ebroin. The thefts have occurred in several other cities, but nothing like the twenty-something thousand crowns that vanished from Teirm. What I think happened there was a mixture of bad luck and stupidity—perhaps a real merchant wanted to cheat on his taxes and the loss compounded, or else there was another batch of (uncaught) thieves, or the accountant who entered the taxes added an extra zero to the end. But anyway, that's beside the point.

Ebroin is an agent of the Varden. One of several, actually, placed in strategic cities to steal funds. After all, rebelling against the Empire must be nice and costly, and they can't just rely on herding goats or whatever it is they do in order to gain income.

The crowns Ebroin stole were to go to somebody he called Weedgrasp. A codename of some sort. Galbatorix and I have pored over census and tax records—a shipping business up and down the Ninor River is called _Brushspurn Shipping_, after the family who founded the business. Brushspurn is a weed, in case you've forgotten—a vile little thing that chokes out other vegetation.

Perhaps, if I track this to the root, I can even find out where the Varden is.

_**Day 1 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

I have established a little lair along the coast of Isenstar Lake, near the woods. Aderes seems content to chew his way through the aquatic population while I search.

Brushspurn Shipping is apparently quite lucrative. At least twenty percent of the barges going up and down the Ninor belong to the business. By Weedgrasp, did Ebroin mean somebody directly connected to the business? Or perhaps it was coined by the place they usually met, by the harbor?

I shall have to be discreet. If I'm too obvious, then I might scare this mysterious contact away. And of course, we wouldn't want to do that, would we?

_**Day 17 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

Well, the contact is definitely nobody in the Brushspurn family. I have checked every single one mentally and thoroughly, and I can't find a speck of anything even vaguely treacherous. Unless you count the rather saucy thoughts Jerrold Brushspurn has been having about the maid in the Lemon's Inn. Have I mentioned he's married?

Somebody stumbled near my hideout today. A girl and a speckled dog.

_**Day 20 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

I felt something odd today while casting out mentally near Gil'ead. It lasted for only an instant, but I'm still struggling to place it. The mind felt familiar, somehow, and what I did get was teeming with thoughts of the Varden. Only, a split-second after I touched it, the mind cloaked itself and vanished.

Who _was_ it? I have a feeling this will come back to haunt me.

_**Day 23 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

I saw the girl-with-dog again today, and I'm wondering what possessed me to say what I did, the way I did. But that's only a rhetorical question, because I know perfectly well. She reminds me of that woman, back in that village.

They look somewhat alike (as in somewhat dirty), but it's her voice that is so similar. I was standing with my back to her, and the first time she spoke I thought that whore was coming back to life to take vengeance.

Her name is Selena.

_**Day 25 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

Brom! That's who it is. I've just woken up and all of a sudden I could place the mind I felt. _Brom!_

He's still alive, then! He's been gone so long I'd assumed he committed suicide long ago. I can still remember how he was after Saphira's death. Almost insane.

I saw Selena again today.

_**Day 30 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

I'm being a fool. I find myself aimlessly dallying in the mornings, waiting for Selena to arrive before beginning the day's search. What am I trying to do? Avoid Brom? It's ridiculous, putting off the inevitable.

Saphira's death keeps playing itself over and over again in my mind. It's like an itch I can't scratch, and I despise it. While Brom was a naïve little country boy, Saphira...she knew things. She was much more perceptive than Brom. I wonder if she knew, in the end.

I distracted myself by going for a walk. Again, I bumped into Selena.

I wonder. Isn't she afraid? Considering who I am?

_**Day 42 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

I've combed Daret, Yazuac, and Gil'ead from top to bottom as thoroughly as possible, and I can find no indication of Brom. He seems to have vanished without a trace; if anybody knows, they can hide it well enough that I can't find it in their minds.

If Brom is gone, then Ebroin's contact most certainly is gone, too. There's no point in me staying here anymore.

Perhaps I'm in denial, but I don't wish to leave. Isenstar is beautiful, especially during sunrise and sunset. The waters are pure and clean, and I find better hunting here than that of the worn forests near Uru'baen. I'm not bothered here by dithering servants, and I don't have to put up the play of thinly sheathed knives of court. True, Selena comes each day, but she doesn't annoy me in the least.

Even the thought of Lady Amelia cannot tempt me away.

_**Day 47 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

Selena met Aderes today, which surprises me. Mostly, Aderes has two responses to strangers—flame them or disdain them. I can count on one hand the number of times he's had a true conversation with anyone who's not a dragon or Rider.

He was tactiturn about the contents of the conversation, but that's nothing new. Aderes is always a bit of a grump. It's part of his dubious charm. Still, if he actually condescended to talk to her, it couldn't have been too bad.

_**Day 54 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

Selena asked me yesterday about flying, and so today I brought her to see the sunset over Isenstar. The sun illuminates everything with an ethereal orange glow, and you can see the shadows of birds as they fly home to their roosts.

We saw a swan, too, guarding his mate and their clutch of eggs. Selena laughed in that charmingly innocent way of hers as the swan looked at us with one stately eye, judging us as no threat to his eggs.

Aderes joined us later as we fished, providing us with a brilliant light show as he exploded out of the water. He seems to find her company acceptable, which is more than what I can say for his attitude regarding Lady Amelia.

We spent the evening walking along the lake, with the dying sun reflecting off her auburn hair.

_**Day 56 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

Galbatorix contacted me in a dream today. There is trouble on my estates—Argelin, my chief steward, is dead. The cause has not been determined. He would say no more, and it's clear that I must return.

I will be sorry to leave, especially for Selena. I doubt I will find another person who will not judge me beforehand, especially considering how I am perceived in Alagaesia.

_**Day 60 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

I have returned to my holdings to find mass panic. Argelin is dead, all right, in a spectacularly bloody way—he has been beheaded, with the head displayed on the castle's main chandelier. Nothing has been touched; the servants left the scene alone.

I must admit I was unsettled at the sight. My foremost image of Argelin is as a responsible, lightly graying man whose face seems incapable of any expression other than a solemn frown. But his death grimace is a grotesque scream of laughter, his mouth twisted and eyes bulging.

_Déjà vu._

I will find whoever did this. It's the least I can do to avenge one of my best servants.

_**Day 63 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

Gregor. That's who did it. Apparently, I've "gotten ahead of myself" and taken what he sees to be _his_ place in the kingdom, at Galbatorix's right hand. That smug little toad was so obvious about it, leaving traces of his muck all over where only a blind man could miss it.

I don't know if he meant this as a playful banter, but I'm certainly not laughing. It will take me weeks upon weeks to find and train a new steward who I can trust to keep his mouth shut. Gregor has overstepped himself this time—our wars are to be kept amongst ourselves, and I will see that he learns the error of his ways.

_**Day 70 of Nmatua, 368 AR**_

Gregor has vanished off the surface of Alagaesia, or so it seems. More likely the little twit is hiding, thinking that he can try to escape me.

I can wait for the rabbit to come out. In the meantime, I am occupied with trying to find a new steward. Argelin had no family to succeed him—none that I trust, anyway.

_**Day 2 of Retniw, 368 AR**_

I have found somebody who might be suitable. Triannon has worked in my estates for sixteen years, and carries authority quite well. I have searched her mind discreetly and have found no trace of treason or disloyalty.

She seems willing to take on Argelin's role. If all goes well, I may return to court in a couple of weeks.

_**Day 25 of Retniw, 368 AR**_

I detest court.

It seems to be made out of nothing but gossip and hidden glances. Alone in the solitude of Isenstar, I seem to have forgotten how much people will jump at the slightest rumor, eagerly ripping it apart with sly looks and muffled whispers.

I don't know what caused it, but I awoke today in a cold sweat. I see that woman again and again, her face contorted as she screams the chant—_Murderer, killer, destroyer. _And then it changes, fire licking over her torn veins, the ghostly flickers dancing in my vision like a curse.

I feel vaguely sick, but I can't get back to sleep. Why is this happening now? I had no regrets when she first died.

_**Day 27 of Retniw, 368 AR**_

I find it hard to sleep these days under the splendor of the palace. Tonight I'll go see if Aderes has room for me in his woodland roost. Perhaps the wild will be better, where I can be alone of my own choice.

_**Day 29 of Retniw, 368 AR**_

Lady Amelia is back again, but I have avoided her for the better part of two days. In truth, I feel slightly distant. Galbatorix jokes that this happens to me every time I 'go camping', that I am far too much of a solitary Rider to blend in gracefully with society. Or perhaps it's just certain people—Selena did not irritate me the way these pompous lumps do.

_**Day 32 of Retniw, 368 AR**_

The Solstice Ball was yesterday, and Lady Amelia tried again and again to lure me into attending as her consort. I declined, but she persisted so badly I left the palace in search of relief.

I spent most of the Ball outside in the woods, with Aderes. I don't think I'm quite prepared to attend court yet, much less something as hideously flowered as the Solstice Ball.

_**Day 36 of Retniw, 368 AR**_

Galbatorix came to see me today, and though he said nothing as direct, I realize that his implied meaning is true. I cannot continue to live with my head in the clouds, lost in wistful memories of a perfect world where nothing is predetermined. What's lost is lost.

I have moved back into the palace.

_**Day 41 of Retniw, 368 AR**_

I 'bumped' into Lady Amelia in the hall yesterday, and have discovered that she has matured during her time away. As well as coming into her inheritance as Countess of Sviniya, she has gained a regal, almost royal air that suits her quite well.

She is quite sly, the Countess Amelia. Perhaps it was the dosed wine, but I found myself spending the night at her suite.

_**Day 67 of Retniw, 368 AR**_

Gregor has returned, strutting the halls like an overdecorated peacock. He seems to think I have forgotten his insult against me last season.

Surprise—I haven't. While Galbatorix forbids me to duel and kill another of the Servants, I can certainly do a lot short of that.

No matter what, I am the strongest of the Thirteen.

_**Day 73 of Retniw, 368 AR**_

Gregor won't be bothering me anymore. In fact, he won't be bothering anybody for a very long time.

Now that I think about it, he won't be seen around court, either. It's hard to do that with his face bashed in and magic laid over it to seal his lying lips shut.

_**Day 9 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

We had a blizzard today, a wonderful surprise. It caused quite the commotion at court to see those pearly white flakes streaking out of the sky, whipping around on a fierce, frigid gale. This is nature's magic, bliss untouched by human hands.

Countess Amelia and I were in my rooms when we first noticed it. I think I acted quite the fool by lunging out of bed and nearly breaking the window, but it's been so long since I've seen something so beautiful and pure.

It's a new year. A new start, in short. A new beginning.

_**Day 42 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

I saw Selena today.

It waas during a banquet, and I was seated with Countess Amelia as per usual when several maids came in to take the plates away. And then when I turned to respond to Countess Amelia's comment about orchids, I saw Selena—not as a guest, but as a maid.

I don't understand. From what I could gather, Selena's family, while not being noble, was fairly high in the social hierarchy. What could happen in the span of time between two seasons ago and today, that she could become a simple maid?

There's another reason, of course. Isenstar was a dream. A beautiful, luxurious dream of which nothing could truly exist. Selena was part of that—a companion that didn't try to double-talk or best me, one that I could faithfully perceive as nothing but truth.

Dreams should stay dreams. What is she doing here?

_**Day 45 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

Her voice sent a strange pang through me when I heard it again today. Selena fascinates me—afraid and courageous, weak and strong, tearful and stoic. Perhaps I am insecure and need reassurance, but I find comfort in the fact that she can take comfort from me.

She's young, naïve, as yet untrained in the ways of court. Eventually she will fade into the woodwork, too, learning to conform with the whispers of gossip and the mawkish flattery. It's always the way it is, isn't it? Perhaps the image I carry of my time in Isenstar is untrue now, destroyed.

I'm afraid to find out.

_**Day 48 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

I find myself wondering if Countess Amelia could have accomplished what Selena did, in her place. To remake a life as a humble maid, when you are used to the rich life of nobility? I can hardly imagine the countess on her hands and knees, scrubbing a floor.

I found time again today to visit Selena. Impatient to have her complete her work, I found myself actually joining in, fetching a cloth to wipe the windows while she swept the floor. It was less painful that was to be expected, especially since Selena was there.

We went walking afterwards. It was a beautiful night, with a full moon.

_**Day 55 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

I visited Selena late today, when her shift was over. I borrowed one of the palace horses for her, a gentle mare named Dunberry, and we went riding in the woods.

I planned to go hunting, actually, and I was about to shoot at a doe I saw when Selena stopped me with her hand on mine. She seemed to sense my intention and pleaded with her eyes, asking me to understand what I would destroy if I released my arrow.

Gracefully arched, illuminated by the sunset that filtered through the trees, the doe stood there, unmoving. Watching us. Maybe it didn't understand that with a flick of my fingers, I could kill it.

Or maybe it was Selena who compelled it to stay, a mutual understanding between two kindred spirits.

_**Day 63 of Ginrps, 368 AR**_

She's the same as she ever was—grown, perhaps, but in no way that I can find fault with. I find myself comparing her incessantly to Countess Amelia, and I don't understand the conclusions I'm coming out with.

So different. In every measurable way, they are opposites. Where Countess Amelia is cunning, Selena is open and honest. Where Countess Amelia is cool, calm, and collected, she is passionate. Sensitive.

When that disgusting bastard touched her today, I—well, I don't think I entirely believe it myself. But I know what I intend to do to him, and I know this is something that I _will_ do. I just don't know why. Why I feel so strongly.

I could choose any of a dozen women. A hundred. A _thousand!_ From the poorest peasant to the richest duchess, any chit in Alagaesia I chose could be mine. Countess Amelia would surely delight to become my consort, if she isn't already. Much less my—

My wife?

I can't. I can't be thinking about that, can I? It's ridiculous. Taking a wife means responsibility. Whatever happened to Morzan the loner? The one who wants to be alone all the time, who can't stand living at court?

_Selena_. Look at this. Look at what I'm writing, what I'm thinking. You've ruined my concentration, my focus, my—oh, I don't know what. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe since she and that woman from the village are so similar, I think I can atone for what I did. But that's ridiculous. Isn't it?

All I know is that I cannot stand to think of another man touching her. Groping her. _Wanting _her the way I do.

_**Day 69 of Gnirps, 368 AR**_

I finally went to see Galbatorix today, hoping that he could help me untangle this mess. He listened to my garbled explanation, at all the words gushing out of me, and finally he just said something along the lines of, "Do you love her?"

_Love_? It's a four-letter word. Four letters that have potentially ripped my life apart. All these years, over a hundred of them now—nobody, _nobody_ has affected me the way Selena has. Not Countess Amelia, not any of the dozen women I've flirted with, kissed, and slept with.

Galbatorix then continued, ignoring the sight I must've made—disorderly, wide-eyed, frantic. "Why should you suddenly break away from Countess Amelia? Haven't she been your consort for this past year? I must admit, you two are so very alike. Wouldn't it be a much better match?"

Countess Amelia. Countess Amelia with her pale smooth skin and silky blond hair and cold, sharp eyes. Somehow, marrying her never crossed my thoughts, even in the moments of ecstacy or sharpest passion. She was exactly that—a consort. Not somebody I could imagine binding my life with.

But how can I want Selena? I've known her for a much shorter period of time. I've never slept with her, I've only kissed her once—aren't those acts by which love is judged?

I left then, more confused than before.

_**Day 71 of Gnirps, 368 AR**_

Countess Amelia stopped me in the halls today. She has caught wind of the rumors and is demanding that I refute them. _Demanding._

I am still at a loss for words by her audacity. By demanding in such a regal, imperious way—what does she assume, then? As if she were queen and I was bound to her by an oath of loyalty? As if we were married, and I was having an affair?

I overreacted, I think. My feelings have been turbulent enough, and to hear such an arrogant order issue from her mouth was the breaking point. Either way, my relationship with Countess Amelia is well and truly gone.

_**Day 73 of Gnirps, 368 AR**_

The marriage oath varies from city to city, and also depends on which priest of which faith you choose. They all have one thing in common, though—the last lines. 'I tie my life to yours, through pain and sorrow, through faith and love. So mote it be, till death do us part.'

Could I commit myself to that kind of finality? _Dreams can't last forever_. If there's one thing that I've learned in my life, it's that. What if I wake up ten years from now and discover that something's changed in her? That what I thought her to be was false, a silly façade?

As I watch her now through a scrying glass, I find myself believing so strongly that this picture I paint cannot come to pass. By a simple fact of who she is, who her character is—none of that could happen.

_**Day 77 of Gnirps, 368 AR**_

Fragile, exquisite—if I don't capture it now, it will vanish like a snowflake, lost in the wind. I can't let that happen; I can't let what I've found disappear into smoke. I won't _let _it.

I will ask Galbatorix for permission tomorrow. And then after that…for Selena's consent.

_**Day 78 of Gnirps, 368 AR**_

He was perfectly ambiguous about it, perfectly diplomatic. I didn't get an answer either way, and his face is closed to me. _Why won't he let me?_

I told him. I told him that this was something I had debated for a very long time, thought through, and calculated every angle before I came to this decision. Yet through all of it, he said nothing even vaguely close to consent, his eyes hooded.

I sense he disapproves, but I cannot understand his motivations.

_**Day 2 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

The answer is still no. To be accurate—it's nothing. Galbatorix watches me while I pace the throne room, trying to convince both him and myself. No reponse comes. It never does.

I thought I was so certain, but now I fumble like a helpless newborn. My arguments are almost gone.

_**Day 5 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

He did, right? Or perhaps I was just imagining all of it…?

I never thought he'd change his mind. For so long he was as a block of marble, his eyes the only movement as they followed me around the room. But today, as I stood there before him—mute, out of words—he finally spoke.

He asked me the same question he'd asked the very first time I met him. Simple, but with an infinitely different meaning. _Who are you?_

I gaped at him then, as surprised as anything that something so non sequitur should suddenly come my way after days of silence. It took my some time to regain my bearings, and when I finally spoke, my voice was rougher than it should have been. "Morzan."

He smiled then, faintly. "Morzan Onirson. Son of a peasant, from humble origins. From dirt, to be blunt. Elevated to the status of nobility by the chance that one of the most graceful beings on Alagaesia should choose you. You think you know yourself, but only one who observes can see how much you've changed."

I didn't understand, not then. But Galbatorix continued, his eyes softening with an emotion I couldn't and still can't name. "Listen to yourself. You make no sense; I haven't been able to understand a single thing you've told me. But I do understand one thing. You would not have tried for so long, and so hard, for somebody you did not truly want."

He leaned forward then, taking my hand in his. "I don't know if you'll come to regret this in years following, Morzan. Love and desire are different things. But for now...go. If this is what you truly believe, then go."

I could only stare at him, stunned. I think I'm still in shock, for everything seems rather numb.

_**Day 6 of Remmus, 368 AR**_

I asked her today. Finally, after so many weeks—I was able to ask her, to listen for her answer…

She said yes.

Beautiful, strong, warm Selena. A wild doe, held still before the bowsight, the moon brushing her with silvery fingers. Now and forever, till death do us part.

She's _**mine**_.

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**-gasps and leans back-**

**Arghk. God, I slaved over this for ages—I can honestly say that this was one of the hardest, most complex things I have ever, **_**ever**_** written in my life. **

**OKAY, I'LL UPDATE VIRIDIAN FLAME! I'm just kinda…occupied right now. If I don't get something up by Sunday, I swear I'll update next week.**

**UPDATE: 12/30/06 **

**Yaaaaaaay. I'll keep going with this, then, since I got so many positive reviews. –hugs- To counterpart ****Silver Roses**** will be ****Splintered Ice****, and for ****White Roses**** will be a title that I haven't decided on yet. Splintered will come out next week if you can be chuffed to read this A/N. Hope to see y'alls there.**

**Ciao ciao. And o'course, REVIEW!**


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